Slightly Sinful (37 page)

The lady slapped a hand to her bosom.

"I am not," she cried. "You lie, sir. This was a gift from my mother twenty years ago."

"I will come with you, Sir Jonathan," the general announced importantly. "There ought to be an independent authority to confirm your findings. And since the brooch can no longer be used as irrefutable evidence since both Lord Weston and Miss Croyden claim ownership of it and one would not wish to call either a liar without due consideration, I would ask for a detailed description, Weston, of as many pieces as you can remember."

There was a fresh flurry of excitement as Miss Crawley tried to slip away unnoticed and four ladies, headed by Geraldine, fell upon her with much wrath and name-calling-the most colorful and lurid of which came, interestingly enough, from Miss Crawley's lips. But the spectacle was virtually at an end.

Lord Weston advised anyone who had made a donation to one of Crawley's charities to make a claim for its return without delay and anyone who was thinking of making a donation to think again.

One of the churchgoing ladies shrieked and swooned. Two others declared that they would defend the poor dear man to their dying day.

Rachel meanwhile had stepped forward and stood looking down at Nigel Crawley, who had still not got to his feet, perhaps out of fear that he would be knocked off them again.

"It is strange," she said, "how good can come out of both evil and seeming disaster. It is through you and your villainy, Mr. Crawley, that I discovered true friendship and love and compassion. I hope as much good can come out of this evil and this disaster for you." She switched her attention to the lady. "And for you too, Miss Crawley, though I feel compelled to say that I doubt it."

Alleyne hauled Crawley to his feet and quick-marched him across the abbey yard and through the pillared arches at its entrance to one of the carriages that had been awaiting them ever since they stepped out of the Pump Room. The crowd fell back before them, and Miss Crawley with her four female guards plus Weston and Rachel fell in behind.

"That is the greatest excitement we have seen in Bath," one gentleman was commenting to another as Alleyne passed, "since Lady Freyja Bedwyn accused the Marquess of Hallmere right in the middle of the Pump Room of being a debaucher of innocence. Were you there?"

They were words that somehow lodged themselves in Alleyne's mind even though he had no opportunity to take them out again immediately to examine them. He was too busy loading Crawley into one of the carriages, climbing in right behind him, and then helping Weston and the general in to join them.

The ladies meanwhile-all six of them-were piling into the other carriage, all of them apparently intent upon coming to Sydney Place too.

Alleyne just hoped that no one would think of sending a constable there just yet.

CHAPTER XXI

R ACHEL COULD HARDLY BEAR TO LOOK AT Nigel Crawley. It was humiliating indeed to realize that she had once respected and admired him well enough to agree to marry him. How could she have been so gullible? As well as being a cheat and a thief, he was a cringing coward. He was almost the same size as Jonathan and no one had held him down in the abbey yard, but he had not even attempted to fight back. And after he had been knocked down, he had lain on the ground weeping. Now he sat on the chair in his rooms where Jonathan had deposited him, looking shriveled up and darting glances about the room as if seeking an avenue of escape.

It was doubtful he would find one. Geraldine, Flossie, and Phyllis stood triumphant guard over him while Bridget kept a firm eye on Miss Crawley, who was seated a short distance away from her brother.

Her one consolation, Rachel thought, was that many other women, and even some men, had been deceived by them too-not that any of those others had come close to marrying him, of course.

There was a huge amount of money in the rooms, as well as the box of jewelry that had been taken from the safe in the library at Chesbury. Uncle Richard had identified all the pieces, and General Sugden had confirmed that they matched the descriptions that had been given him during the carriage ride to Sydney Place.

The general had taken charge from the moment of their arrival and was enjoying himself enormously, Rachel believed. He sat now at a cloth-covered table in the middle of the sitting room with paper, pen, and ink acquired from the landlady, making written lists of everything that had been discovered on the premises apart from the furnishings of the rooms and the personal effects of the two occupants.

There were significant omissions from his list, though. Before sitting down, he had counted out the exact sum Flossie had named to him as the combined life savings of the four friends and set the money in her hand with a magnificent military bow. And he had given Rachel the small sum she had deposited for safekeeping with Nigel Crawley when she left Brussels with him. He had offered Uncle Richard the sum he had donated to charity, but her uncle had refused it.

Only then had General Sugden asked the landlady to send for a constable.

Rachel was not at all sure that what he had done was legally correct. But no one argued with him, least of all the Crawleys. And it was clear to her that if they waited for the law to take its course, they would very probably never see their money again. Anyway, the general appeared to be a powerful, even domineering man who would simply overbear any magistrate who happened to learn of what he had done and had the temerity to question him on it.

"With your permission, Weston," he said, cleaning off the quill pen at last, "the jewels will remain as evidence. Money in itself is poor proof of theft since it is difficult to trace to its original owner. But the presence of these jewels here, especially since one of them was on the person of the female suspect when she was apprehended, will be incontrovertible proof that they are rogues and villains."

Looking down at the jewels all heaped together in their heavy box, Rachel felt almost queasy. There were far more of them than she had expected. They must indeed be worth a vast fortune. Then she had a sudden thought and crossed the room until she stood looking down at Nigel Crawley.

"You did not intend to marry me at all, did you?" she asked him. "You would have found an excuse to wait until after we had gone to Chesbury. You just wanted me to lead you to the jewels."

He looked up at her with ill-concealed malice. But it was Miss Crawley who answered.

"Marry you?" she said with a scornful laugh. "You think that just because you have all that yellow hair and those big, soulful eyes you are God's answer to every man's prayer? He wouldn't marry you if you were the last woman on earth. Anyway, he couldn't. He is married to me."

"Oh." Rachel closed her eyes. "Thank heaven!"

Bridget tapped Miss Crawley-or Mrs. Crawley or whatever her name was-none too gently on the shoulder.

"You be quiet now," she said, "and speak when you are spoken to."

It was the moment at which the door crashed open and Sergeant Strickland burst into the room.

"I got the message," he said, looking at Geraldine, "and here I am. So this is him, is it?" He bent a stern gaze on Nigel Crawley. "Sitting in the presence of ladies?"

"What ladies?" Mr. Crawley mumbled.

"That was not nice, lad," the sergeant said, stepping closer, "nor wise neither. On your feet, then."

"You may go to the devil," Mr. Crawley told him.

Sergeant Strickland reached out one massive hand to grasp him by the back collar of his coat, and lifted him to his feet as if he weighed no more than a small sack of potatoes.

"He called us all whores, Will," Geraldine told him, "in the middle of the yard outside the Pump Room. Rachel too. And then Sir Jonathan gave him a bloody nose and knocked him down. We all fairly swooned with joy. Jonathan looked as handsome as sin when he was doing it."

"That was very unwise, lad." Sergeant Strickland shook his head sorrowfully as he gazed at a now-cowering Nigel Crawley. "Right, then. Stand at attention."

Mr. Crawley gazed at him with uncomprehending eyes.

"At-ten-SHUN!"

He snapped to attention.

"Right, sir," the sergeant said, addressing Jonathan, "what is to be done with him?"

"A constable has been sent for," Jonathan explained. "The ladies' money has been returned to them, and Miss York's jewels have been recovered."

"Right you are, sir," Sergeant Strickland said. "I will guard the prisoner until the constable arrives, then, and you and Lord Weston can take the ladies back to the hotel for breakfast. Eyes front, lad."

"Oh, Will," Geraldine said, "you are setting my heart all aflutter. If I had ever followed the drum with you, I would have been in a permanent swoon. I give you fair warning that I am falling in love with you."

"You must be a sergeant," the general said approvingly, "and a damned good one too, if my guess is correct. I would be happy to have you serve in my battalion if I still had one, but Mrs. Sugden persuaded me to retire ten years ago."

Sergeant Strickland saluted smartly. "That is all right, sir," he said. "I was dismissed from the service anyway on account of I lost an eye at Waterloo, but I am a gentleman's gentleman now-until I can get my feet under me, so to speak. Eyes front, lad, and don't let me have to tell you again unless you wants to see me in a crotchety mood."

Nigel Crawley stood like a soldier on parade, looking remarkably ridiculous. His nose shone like a beacon.

Rachel looked at Jonathan and found him gazing back at her, laughter and perhaps something a little warmer in his eyes. It had been a turbulent couple of hours, during which they had exchanged scarcely a word or a glance. But in that time he had been her champion. She abhorred violence, being of the opinion that there must always be a peaceful way of solving differences of opinion. Yet she would never forget the thrill of satisfaction she had felt when he drew blood from Nigel Crawley's nose after that man had called her a whore.

If she had not already been in love with Jonathan before then, she would have tumbled headlong at that moment.

But now their association was very nearly at an end. There was nothing to keep her and her uncle in Bath now that Mr. Crawley had been apprehended and her jewels recovered. There was nothing to keep Jonathan from going to London. Today was perhaps all they had left.

She smiled back at him and felt a tightening of grief in her bosom.

Two constables arrived soon after that, and there was a great deal of noise and confusion again as several people tried to tell the story at once. But they left again eventually to take the prisoners before a magistrate, General Sugden, Sergeant Strickland, and the four ladies with them. Bridget would have stayed behind, but Rachel could see how wistful she looked and waved her away. She had her uncle to play the part of chaperon.

He was desperately weary again. He ordered breakfast in his own rooms after they returned to the hotel, and Rachel went with him, unwilling to let him out of her sight until he was settled quietly. Jonathan did not go with them.

Rachel could only hope that there would be a chance sometime later in the day for a private farewell. He would surely leave tomorrow-or perhaps even later today. She would not be able to bear a public leave-taking.

But how would she bear a private one either?

Her uncle was asleep within an hour after their return to the York House Hotel and Rachel got to her feet to leaf idly through the small pile of letters that had been sent on to him from Chesbury.

T HERE WAS NOTHING TO KEEP HIM HERE ANY LONGER, Alleyne realized. The charade was over and so was the chase. The thief who had been the cause of all Rachel's woes was caught and the money she had felt as a personal debt restored to her friends.

He could not claim much glory for the happy outcome for her, but it was pleasing anyway to know that she was going to live the life she ought to have been living since her father's death. She was Miss York of Chesbury Park, she was a considerable heiress, and, best of all, she had an uncle who loved her as a daughter.

He had nothing to stay for.

No further excuse.

By tomorrow night he could be in London. By the next day he might have found someone who recognized him, or he might have tracked down some information about himself. It was an exciting, happy prospect. Surely once he did see a familiar face he would recognize it and everything would come flooding back to him.

But as he looked out the window of his hotel room onto a street turned wet with a sudden downpour of rain, he felt neither excited nor happy.

In fact, he felt downright depressed.

She did not need him any longer. She did not want him. She was with her uncle, as she ought to be, and in time she would marry-how had she phrased it?-the love of her life. She would find such a man too. How could she not? Eligible gentlemen would flock to her side. She could choose whomever she liked.

He would go outside as soon as the rain stopped, he decided. If Strickland returned soon, perhaps they would even leave Bath today instead of waiting for tomorrow-if the sergeant wished to accompany him, that was. Perhaps he would prefer to stay with Geraldine.

Where would he begin his search? Alleyne wondered. And what clues did he have already that might lead him to his identity? He had not had any new dreams since the one about the fountain or any new feelings of familiarity like the one he had had after diving into the lake. At least, he did not think he had had either. And yet . . .